It was a still, crystal clear night with the full summer moon casting her lamplight over Trefdraeth Castle. Nomis sensed that something extremely important was calling, tugging at his mind and warning him. The feeling of impending doom had been with him for months now, ever since the first spring buds had appeared.

Nomis sat in a hollowed-out stonewall joint at the base of the Great Tower dangling his legs just above the moat. He could see, to the south, the ragged edge of the summit of Carningli glinting in the ethereal light. There was a magical tingle to this night and he could feel the ‘Gallael”, as the Old Ones named the power, welling up in him. This in itself made, the not quite ‘grown-up’, Nomis an unusual and very different Tylwyth Teg. Most branches of the Tylwyth Teg lived until they were two hundred and fifty years old and were not considered to have ‘come of age’ until 33 years old. All of his friends had lost their extrasensory abilities long before but Nomis was not sure why he still possessed his abilities nor why they were still growing stronger. Nevertheless, he sensed that it was all to do with the sense of foreboding that often affected him lately.

As Nomis sat listening to the sounds of the night, he felt the heaviness of gloom and despondency creep over him once more like a stealthy blanket. He just could not shake off this insidious, yet real dread, that had been troubling him, no matter how hard he had tried in the past to fight it.

Suddenly, across the dark, eerie waters of the moat, there was a loud rustling sound, alarming on such a calm clear night. It reminded Nomis of the crackling noise that made one’s hair stand on end during a thunderstorm, just before the overhead lightning and torrential rains. “No, that can’t be right,” he muttered, glancing doubtfully upwards at a perfectly clear night sky.

As the noise became louder, a throbbing pulse began ringing in his ears. This resonance became ear splitting as the outline of a large…